The Space Between Stars
by ExOrienteLux94
Summary: Kylo Ren is frustrated and confused after the events on Star Killer base. Teetering upon the thin line between the light and the dark, he finds himself lost. Snippets of times before and after episode VII. A speculative AU take on how Ben Solo became Kylo Ren and what followed after.
1. Twilight

_**Author's note:**_ _Takes place just days after the ending of "The Force Awakens". A short depiction of a training sequence between Kylo Ren and his teacher, whose identity I will leave for you all to decipher. Let's just say I have a certain character and backstory in mind._

 _I just simply had to get this out of my head and onto paper, so here we are. Sometimes characters are just begging for their stories to be told, you know. And this is the first Star Wars story that I have ever written._

 **Twilight**

A bead of sweat slid down Kylo's clammy forehead. Ignoring the quiver of exhaustion that was slowly creeping up his body, he raised the saber high to ward off yet another offending bolt. The last hour of training was beginning to weight on his arms and the training bot that hovered on the other side of the room kept on firing mercilessly. He clenched his hands tighter around the saber hilt, his knuckles shining white in the pale industrial lighting. The weapon was a flimsy thing: no more than a low powered training saber, a cheap mirage of the power that a true lightsaber held. Once more he cursed the girl. His saber had been special. A reward of countless hours labored unsuccessfully pondering over old schematics of an ancient weapon technology. His master had offered little help; the man had only advised to trust in the force, only thrusting a crimson cyber crystal into Kylo's hand. The result had been an incomplete, pilfered design of a grandiose past. To Kylo, the blade had been perfect.

Anger tinted his vision red. He reveled in it, let the heat of emotion fill him. Frustration brought a furious power to his strikes. He had been weak and that was unforgiveable. Never mind being injured and confused. Weakness had cost him a victory in a battle that should have been easily won. The girl had been untrained and untried; the boy was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill Stormtrooper. Arrogance and overconfidence; it was what his uncle had once scolded him for, what his mother had seen in him and feared. The terror and sadness in his mother's warm eyes, the disappointment in his fath-… Han Solo's gaze.

His lapse in concentration was broken by a stinging pain in his shoulder. He gasped, more in surprise than in pain. An angry red burn shimmered under shredded fabric where a stray bolt had struck him. He bit back the pain. Agony and anger were a wellspring of power. He would reach out to grasp that power. His strikes became heavy and faster with growing rage. Soon he saw only the pale red haze of the training blade.

Five minutes later, the last bolt buried itself into a wall, leaving behind a smoldering burn mark. Kylo doubled over from exhaustion, grasping his knees. His famished lungs drew in air with labored breaths. His left hand rose to caress his throbbing side. The wrapping underneath the tunic still felt dry.

The soft sound of slow clapping thundered across the silence. "An admirable effort." For a moment, Kylo thought it was a genuine compliment.

"You are doing it wrong."

Kylo could not help but flinch at those words. He had always hated criticism. He despised never being good enough, never seeming to exceed the standards. Satisfactory, adequate…. He hated those words. More than that he hated perfection. Why give a name to that which was unreachable, unattainable? The constant drive and effort for something you could never reach. Ben Solo had craved for perfection, yet always ended up being just barely up to par. A boy who had his mother terrified and a father who stood silent at the sidelines. Han Solo's lack of words had never satisfied the son who had craved for praise, for simple words of pride and acknowledgment.

"It is effective. That is all that matters." He kept his tone curt, trying to smooth out the deep scowl that marred his face. "I have no need for your input, _master_."

The elder scoffed, more amused than disgruntled. "Such disrespect, Ben" The name made Kylo grit his teeth in anger. He bit into his lower lip. A coppery taste flooded his mouth. Always, the man enjoyed edging the youth on by playing with the apprentice's insecurities. It was cruel. Then again, what else was one to expect. Kylo bit back a snarky reply as cold azure eyes nailed his form to the spot. "The Supreme Leader has decreed your training inadequate. I am here to remedy that." Against his better judgement, the sharp gaze and the commanding tone were a familiarity that made the tension in his shoulders ease.

"Form three, opening guard!"

The sudden order jarred Kylo's composure and he hastened to comply. The student silently cursed his clumsy movements as he settled his frame into the familiar, yet foreign posture. His body angled sideways as his left foot slid forward, the right bent in support in the back. Somewhat awkwardly, he raised his saber in a defensive one handed grip while extending the other hand in challenge. Footsteps echoed as his teacher rounded his form, carefully apprising the student's stance. There was no verbal rebuttal. The steps stopped behind Kylo. As expected, he felt a pair of hands clasp his own shoulders.

Callused, tanned hands kneaded down the tense muscles until they felt them relax. Satisfied, the hands moved down to reorient the arm holding the blade, guiding it down to just above waist level. The training saber hummed softly in the silence.

" _Emotion, yet peace."_

Form three, Soresu or the way of the Mynock. With its tight bladework and subtle dodges, it was considered the ultimate defensive form of lightsaber combat. The Resilience Form was the way of the survivor, as his teacher had once described. A master of the form could outlast any opponent, turning their opponent's strength and blows against them. Exhaustion would lead to fatigue, and fatigue would inevitably lead to recklessness and misjudgment. A lapse in concentration from the opponent would guarantee a defeating blow.

" _Ignorance, yet knowledge."_

Kylo could not understand why his teacher favored such a defensive form. True, the man was a master of Soresu, but Kylo knew he was just as well – if not better – versed in the more offensively oriented fourth form. Yet most of the time when they dueled, the man would drop back into his passive fighting style, unnecessarily drawing out the conflict. Perhaps it was simply a teaching tool; somehow Kylo doubted it.

A prodding foot at his ankle made him widen his stance.

It had to be something more. The effort, care and consideration that he had seen his teacher pour into his third form katas could not be faked or half-hearted. And then there was something else in the man's eyes whenever he wielded his yellow bladed saber; it was something Kylo couldn't discern but still envied. At one time Kylo had thought it to be passion, though that did not quite capture it.

" _Passion, yet serenity."_

The touch of his teacher's hands disappeared from his left hand. He could feel the man's satisfaction silently shimmer in the Force. He listened to the man's steps scuffle across the floor. His teacher was facing him, waiting for him to complete the final step. A sharp hiss told him the man had finally ignited his blade. The sound made the hairs on the back of Kylo's neck stand up on end; the beast of battle reared in his chest making his heart race. He breathed deeply through the nose.

He tore through the Force to reach the eye of the storm. The calm at the heart of the tempest, that was the feeling he was searching for. Yet, somehow it always evaded him. He had to open himself to the Force. Kylo bit his lip as he reached out his senses further, hesitant to loosen his grip on the physical.

And then the air was alive with sound and noise. Ethereal humming and voices filled his head; screaming and shouting deafened his ears. He was back in the deepening shadow, with two pairs of hands grasping for his lightsaber. He felt the awe as he levitated a small stone inches above his palm, while the warmth of the Force gently caressed him. He stood amidst the thunder and the pouring rain, the smell of iron suffocated his sense of smell. Seven candles flickered out on a lifeday cake as his father stood beside him recording the moment on a holo. He stood in the corridor, ears pounding with the arguing voices of his mother and father. He pulled away, shuddering and sweating from the effort. He rapidly blinked away the tears in his eyes.

" _Chaos, yet harmony."_

He threw himself against his opponent's guard, forgoing strategy for brute force. The blow was deflected without any effort, yet Kylo did not care. He threw himself at his teacher three more times before the man reacted, lashing out with his own blade and swiftly disarming the young man. The training saber clattered across the room several feet away. Kylo's knees bruised against the hard floor. His teacher had not moved a single step from where he had started.

"Arrogance, overconfidence, recklessness, aggression. You let your sins and flaws drown you, Ben."

Kylo snarled at his teacher. Bloody spit dripped down his chin. "Keep your light side ramblings to yourself, old man. They make you weak, made the Jedi weak. I slaughtered the Jedi, scoured the temple as my grandfather did." Ben Solo was of the Light. Ben Solo was a Jedi. Ben Solo was weak. Ben Solo was dead. Kylo Ren would be strong. "I care not for the Light, for it has forsaken me." He felt like throwing up. The throbbing of his side was quickly morphing into a crescendo of agony.

He heard a snap and the yellow glow disappeared. There was the shuffling of robes and the squeak of leather as his teacher lowered himself onto his knees before his student. Kylo stared at the floor, counting the miniscule cracks in the duracrete. "A Jedi cautioned me against anger. A Sith goaded me to embrace it." The voice had a hard edge to it, yet at the same time it felt close to cracking. Kylo's jaw tightened in surprise. His teacher had met a Sith? "I learned to reign it in, to control it." Kylo yearned for that control. Ben Solo had lacked the control, been without discipline. And his parents had feared him for it, washed their hands of the far too emotional boy. Hands clasped his quivering shoulders. Bracing himself for the look of disappointment in his teacher's eyes, Kylo glanced up.

"Control your anger, your hate, and your pain." Rarely had he heard the man use such a soft voice, barely a whisper. There was no irritation or judgement in his teacher's blue eyes. The Force whispered in understanding, and for the first time Kylo did not bat it away. "Do not run from it or let it drown you, for you will become reckless. Become the master of your emotions." Perhaps that was the answer. All his childhood, he had been told to let go of his anger, his hate. Ignore his frustration and shove it into a dark corner of his mind. His mother would simply wipe away his tears, tell him that it would be alright. His father would punch him on the shoulder, tell him to lighten up. His uncle would assign hours of meditation practice. It had not helped; the beast had only grown in the darkness.

The man's eyes wandered to Kylo's side. The corners of his eyes tightened ever so slightly. "Pull up your shirt." Kylo stared at his teacher in silence for a while, hesitating. No one knew about the wound, his weakness. He had refused to see a meddroid, insisting that he was fine. It had taken a while, but he had awkwardly disinfected and bound the wound in his own quarters away from prying eyes. He knew the work was shoddy and messy. He rolled up the hem of his dark tunic slowly, carefully separating the glued fibers from the puss and blood that smeared his side. It stung. The makeshift bandage had slipped and was partly soaked through.

Blue, soft eyes met his and with a nod from Kylo, gentle hands began to probe at the wound. Slowly and tenderly, his teacher peeled off the filthy bandages. The man seemed not to care for the blood that stained his hands as he worked. Kylo's side just below his ribs was a mess of crimson and throbbing flesh. There was the sharp sound of fabric ripping. The young man flinched as he felt cold liquid splash against his side. Water, he realized, after spying the open canister in his teacher's hand. With a makeshift rag in hand, the man began to slowly swab away both the dried and fresh blood smeared around the wound. There was silence as he worked, slowly exposing the pale flesh underneath the grime.

"I can see the light in you, though you deny it." Kylo shuffled backwards, about to spring onto his feet; pain be damned. A strong hand clasped his wrist halting the movement. All the while, his teacher did not look up from his task. "He senses it as well."

"A temporary setback. It will not last. The Dark side is stronger." Kylo tried to convince himself. He felt desperate. No matter what he did, the atrocities he committed, the Light continue to pull at him. He had pillaged the temple, sworn himself to the darkness, slaughtered an entire village and killed his own father. It clung to him like a resilient stain. A soft chuckle interrupted his turbulent thoughts.

"You are rather lucky, Ben. Unbelievably so.", His teacher remarked lightly. The man set down the stained cloth and half empty water canister. Experienced eyes and fingers inspected the injury. "No serious internal damage or bleeding." The man reached for his saber, igniting the blade. The warmth made Kylo's exposed skin tingle.

"Bite down on your shirt."

Kylo gathered the collar of his tunic into his mouth between his teeth. His body tensed as he braced himself. The man did not allow him to dread for long. The heat spiked at his side and he saw white. He tried to stifle a scream by biting down hard into the sweaty fabric. It was unsuccessful. The shock made his breath escape his lungs and he found himself gasping for air. It was over as soon as it had started. Only the smell of cauterized flesh and an intense burning feeling at his side lingered.

"The light side and the dark side; the Jedi and the Sith. You are so quick to separate the two." His teacher smoothened a cooling patch of first aid bacta onto the now closed wound. Why he would carry such a thing around, Kylo could not fandom. The pain was slowly ebbing away, leaving his side feeling rather numb. "There is no death, there is the Force. And the Force shall free me."

"Truth is the common narrative."

His teacher rose up. A moment later hands scooped under Kylo's arms, pulling him to a standing position. The world swayed for a few seconds. Dimly, he felt his teacher reach out through the Force. There was a soft cling and a silver metal cylinder flew into his grasp. The man eyed the training saber with distaste, running his hands along the dents and scrapes along the hilt.

"You'll need a new blade." Kylo felt some of the overbearing tiredness slip away at the statement. The idea of forging a new saber filled him with unexplainable warmth. Ben Solo cheered quietly in childish excitement. A soft smile curved Kylo's lips upward. He did not feel like smothering it even as he saw his teacher stare at him in amusement. "Get some rest, Ben. We leave for Ilum in the morning."


	2. Asterism

**Asterism**

Ben pressed his nose flat against the window glass. Rain drops splattered and dragged against the cool surface; a soft, thick mist shrouded the landscape beyond. He had always liked the rain: the gentle and rough patter of drops against the roof and windows, the murky, darkened hues that shadowed the landscape, and the smell that lingered in the air after a storm had passed. Clouds swirled, dancing in the lower atmosphere, veiling the pale spring sun from view.

The rain reminded him that they were back planetside. There was no rain or wind in space, only a silence filled with the deafening thrum of the hyperdrive and the pulsing of the radiators. There was the faded excitement of seeing a thousand stars strewn across an endless dark, the wonder of a nebula stretching like a rainbow of color, and the childish awe of planets shrinking away from sight as a ship sped off into hyperspace. After the childish glee had left him, space had become cold and lonely. He remembered playing in the dusty corners of the Falcon, crawling underneath the engine hull with his father, grinning at his mother with a grease smeared smile. The sterile whitewashed halls of a republic flagship left him feeling cold and hollow.

"I do not trust him."

"He is a friend. You need his help, Luke."

Ben spied a pair of convorees nestled under a ledge jutting out from the side of the temple. The pair was huddled close together, taking shelter from the downpour. The birds looked fluffy and doubled in size with their golden feathers ruffled to heed off the wind. Their tails were wound tight and the flat faces were burrowed deep into the feathery fluff of the wings and the body. Ben curled up tighter on his perch upon the window sill, hugging his knees closer to his chest.

He felt cold. His tunic was of warm thick cloth and his boots were well padded; he hadn't had a chance to change since their short journey through hyperspace. Uncle Luke had greeted them upon the front steps of the temple, clad in pale, light robes with his unruly hair that mother constantly chided him for and his ever present lightsaber at his side. The man had wrapped them both in his warm embrace and ruffled Ben's bedhead locks. Ben had trailed behind the pair up the steps, marveling with wide eyes at the veering trees and tall pillars. His mother had grown rigid before they reached the first corridor.

The rain rapped louder against the window, failing to drown out the storm brewing in the adjoining room. Ben allowed his vacant eyes to wander to the doorway across the corridor. The door was ajar, ever so slightly cracked open; the lock had refused to click closed despite the frustrated force that his mother had slammed it with.

"You haven't seen the man for fifteen years! You don't know where he went or what he has done since!" There was clear agitation in his uncle's tone. It had a sharp edge to it, almost anger; Uncle Luke had said Jedi were never angry. "The Force feels uneasy… shrouded. Besides, Master Yoda said-"

His mother cut him off. Ben was sure her eyes were burning with a cold fury. Presence topped simple words, his mother had often told him; will over words. "I don't care what some old green hermit said. He is a good man, I know it! I owe him a favor… The entire rebellion does." A much gentler tone accompanied the outburst. Ben strained his ears to catch the rest. "He was so broken, Luke. I know what it's like to lose the only family you have. For me, it was over in a flash when Vader blew up my home. He had to watch it happen over months, years."

He glimpsed his uncle's shadow stalk across the room. The man stopped just beyond the crack. There was a shuffle and a sigh. Father always hugged mother after they fought; Ben could never understand how the storm could fade into a calming breeze so quickly. Father would kiss mother on the forehead and mother would bury her head into his shoulder and hair. Ben would look away because the kids in the academy thought such things icky and disgusting; Ben was not sure he properly understood why.

"We all watched it happen. I am sure we all noticed, worried, yet did nothing. We were all too preoccupied struggling against the Empire, moving from one base to the next." His mother's voice was muffled, yet passionate. "I don't know what happened to him, what he's been doing all these years. And frankly, I don't care. I can help him now, and I will."

Apparently, his uncle did not share the sentiment. "Listen to yourself, Leia! You said you only met him a handful of times. He is little more than a stranger!" Well, Ben was used to disagreements and arguments. "If Han heard you fawning over another man like this-" Uncle Luke was cut off by the acute snap of flesh striking flesh. Ben shrunk down further in his seat. His mother never took well to insults. Arguments lead to insults, insults lead to violence, and violence was followed by tears and apologies.

"Well he is not here, is he?!" His mother's voice was filled with tearful anger and condemning accusation. "Took off in the middle of the night. Hasn't been back since It happened." It was his fault, he knew, though his mother refused the truth. If he had kept his mouth shut, hadn't said anything… father would be here and he and mother would be happy and sad and happy again as it had always been. Something soured his eyes.

"It's been over a month, Luke. Even Ben knows; I could never lie to him. I want him back! I need the stupid nerf-herder. Ben needs him."

His uncle remained silent. "I see their looks; I am not blind. They fear him after what happened. Even Han is afraid. He never wanted to understand it." Ben hated the stares. In the beginning, they had been merely curious of the senator's lithe, little shadow, never seeing the child for anything else but his mother's son. Ben had detested them back then. Now they were more subtle but colder. "I fear what might happen if they find out." That her son heard voices in silent rooms. That her son somehow knew places and people that he had never seen nor met.

"He killed my father, my mother, my friends. Destroyed my home. He almost took Han from me." The sudden anger and anguish in his mother's voice frightened him. "And now he comes back from the grave to haunt me!" Something shattered against the wall. Ben filched. "When will he let me be?!" He needed to get away. Ben got up shakily.

He refused the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. The halls were far from empty. He could feel the curious stares of children both younger and older than himself. They whispered, yet his ears were filled with laughter and mumbling and shouting. His pace quickened to a quick sprint.

His steps took him further into the temple. The walls turned into crumbling stone; the floor tiling hadn't been swept or washed in decades. Daylight seeped in from the cracks in the mortar. The voices were quieter here, mostly drowned out by the drumming of the rain. The soft scuffle of robes and footsteps made him swirl around. The corridor behind him was empty; only dust danced in the air and shadows hid among the ruble.

It was then that he heard it. Unlike anything Ben had ever before heard, the sound was an abnormal mixture of things. His keen ears picked up the powerful gush of wind mixed with static and the soft, unmistakable crackle of electricity. The noise pulsed, rising to a crescendo and then fading into near silence before beginning again. As he listened more, he picked out a change in its pitch. Then it grew louder before returning to its slowly oscillating hum. Ben though it wonderful: a powerful, palpable voiceless song. It lured him along.

It didn't take the boy long to find the source of the epiphany. A shadow flickered across the corridor floor, cast out of a room to the right with an open door. Cautiously he peeked into the room, bracing himself against the doorway.

Feet scurried back and forth in an uneven waltz. Yet the tapping of feet and the swings of the blade formed a coherent whole. Every swing and arc a deliberate part of a complex puzzle that Ben could not quite figure out yet found utterly mesmerizing. It was as if there was another invisible warrior in the room. A horizontal sweep turned into a faint, a downward thrust, a sidestep and a parry. The still air of the room was alive with flurries and streaks of light and the hum of a deadly weapon. Ben's breath hitched when the warrior leapt into the air, spinning for momentum before crashing down to break through his opponent's guard. He had rarely glimpsed his uncle's blue blade in action. This was something completely different. Something both thrilling and eloquent, powerful and graceful in the same breath. He leaned forward, eager for a better look.

And then it all stopped. The blade disappeared and the man came to a standstill in what seemed like a midsweep. Ben was befuddled. He was sure that he hadn't made a single sound; the man should have had no reason to notice him.

"Shouldn't you be studying?" The man asked now fully facing his unexpected spectator. Ben wondered at the lack of exhaustion in his voice despite the sheen of sweat that stained his shirt at the collar. Blue eyes appraised his stature and Ben couldn't help squirming slightly under the intense gaze. "You're not a student, are you? Who are you, boy?" Ben felt nervous and unsure. He really shouldn't be here. He was surely in trouble and curiosity had killed the tooka.

"B-B-Ben, sir."

Blue eyes widened in unexpected recognition. A soft smile formed wrinkles on the corners of the mouth yet the skin around the eyes remained smooth. "You're senator Organa's kid then." Ben gave the man a strange look; his family name was Solo. "Leia Organa. Is your mother's name Leia?" The man further clarified, taking in the boy's confused look. His mother's name had been Organa? Ben was not sure; neither his father or mother had ever mentioned the name. Everyone else called them General Solo and Senator Solo. Still, it could be so, though it didn't explain how this stranger knew his mother's name just by looking at him. Weird, and a little suspicious. Somewhat unsure, Ben gave a hesitant nod.

"You have the same eyes." Did he just read Ben's mind? Suddenly the nervousness returned tenfold with the disturbing thought. "So what are you doing, wandering around here? This part of the temple is still little more than ruins and rubble. Dangerous for children to go around snooping. Shouldn't you be with your uncle and mother?" He should have stayed where he was supposed to. His mother would be worried, agitated. Ben shuffled his feet; the scuffmarks on the right tip suddenly seemed extremely interesting.

Footsteps. The man was no doubt right in front of him. "Have you ever used one of these?" The question ripped Ben's gaze upwards. He gazed hungrily at the silver cylinder upon the outstretched palm. The weapon was no doubt old yet beautiful. Elegant. The grip was padded and worn; the body was well polished and morphed the image of the room upon its curved surface. He shook his head. He glanced up to meet twinkling blue eyes. The half-smile was still in place and unfading. "How about I show you? Come on. And take your shoes off." Only then did Ben notice the man himself was bare foot. He tugged off his boots after carefully undoing the straps and buckles. Copying the elder he pulled off his socks as well. The floor felt gritty and cold under the soles of his feet. He approached warily, still unsure of what to expect. Subtle excitement bubbled in his chest making him jittery. Sadness and coldness from before was a quickly fading memory.

He was surprised when the man pressed something into his hand. There was a moment of hesitation before the elder's grip let go of the cool object and Ben got his first good look. It was another lightsaber, different from the one the man had been sparring with. This was slimmer and a bit shorter in length. Somehow the whole thing felt fragile in Ben's grasp and he was almost afraid that it might fall apart. Despite the coldness of the dulled metal, the hilt felt warm to the touch, soothing, but old and tired. "They don't have training sabers, so we will make due. Be careful with that." His impromptu teacher cautioned quietly. Hands guided Ben's fingers to a knob in the hilt three fourths up from the pommel. The blade erupted, shedding the boy's face in blue pulsating light. The weapon hummed in a low pitch; Ben could feel the blade's power course up his arms. For a moment he felt invincible. A smile creeped up onto his lips. Without warning, the light around him disappeared and the world turned upon its head. Ben panicked.

A steadily blinking red light in a dark room. A narrow shaft of light fell onto the dull duracrete floor from somewhere high above. The space he was in felt crowded and stuffy, yet he was sure that he was alone. There was a loud bang. The vibrations traveled down the wall he was crouched by. Shouting and an army of footsteps from above. The sharp sound of blaster fire and screaming made him flinch and duck. He hid his head into his knees and shielded his ears.

He looked upon ashen ground awash with starlight and the violent crackling of red thunder. Kneeling faceless statues surrounded him amongst a maze of rubble and grime. A scream pierced the air; Ben thought he heard distant laughing, lunatic and in a warped key. Day replaced the darkness. Plains of terracotta dunes under orange skies stretched as far as the eye could see. He cowered on the warm ground on all fours. The dust in the air clung to his lungs and throat making it difficult to breathe. An electric hum filled the air. Blades clashed: blue against red. It was then that he noticed the pain. He grasped his thigh. Blood smeared his palms; it wasn't all his. The sickening sound of flesh being pierced. The noxious smell of scorched tissue and the overwhelming tang of iron made his stomach turn. He heaved heavily, gagging and gasping for air. Something grasped his shoulders pulling him up. The world shifted once more.

A sunset stretched across the lower reaches of the sky as the blue slowly bled crimson. Gold rimmed clouds hung still in the lower atmosphere. It was beautiful. A warm evening breeze caressed his face and tugged at his hair. The wind kicked up a small cloud of dust making Ben shield his face. His ears picked up damped and crackling music; it sounded like something his father would sometimes play much to the annoyance of his mother. He glanced around curious yet still wary from the last vision. There was no one else; only a wall of stacked crates with faded labels and stamps, and a rundown chair beside an equally worn timeworn table that barely stood on its remaining three legs. A threadbare camouflage tarp had been hung up precariously, probably to ward of the nasty glare of midday sun. The place looked lived in. Ben bent over to sniff at a half empty cup that had been abandoned on the table. The liquid inside smelled overly sweet and was the color of an unappetizing light brown.

"It is rather impolite to intrude upon someone else's mind?" Ben almost jumped in surprise. He turned around swiftly, almost knocking over the cup. It veered dangerously upon the edge before a hand reached out to steady it. It was the man from before, from the temple. "Don't tamper with the memory." The man's voice was stern and sharp. The smile from before was completely gone. Ben swallowed nervously shuffling his feet.

"Sorry." He mumbled. The man didn't seem to heed his apology.

The man gave their surrounding a once over, eyes lingering a moment too long on something in the distance. "Come. I think you have seen more than enough." Ben didn't have time to argue back. The man reached forward, bringing his rough hands to the boy's temples. A strange feeling overtook him: like a warm blanket had been draped across his shoulders to heed of the cold. Ben tried to shrug it off. He blinked.

They were back at the temple. Pale sunlight streamed down from the rafters catching on the tarnished metal of the sabre still grasped tightly in his hand. Ben let go of the weapon as fast as he could, retreating a few cautionary steps before stumbling and falling backwards. His heart was racing and he felt blood rushing to his cheeks. His disturbed eyes zapped from one corner of the room to the next before landing on the only other form in the room. The man stood there, blue eyes carefully watching the nervous child. The lightsaber that Ben had apparently dropped was cradled gently in his hands.

Ben reacted the only way he knew. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to- I know I shouldn't have." He was blabbering, fumbling for apologetic words that seemed to escape him. A finger to his lips shushed the boy, abruptly halting the outpour of gibberish apologies.

"The voices. Do you hear them anymore?"

Ben Solo heard only blissful silence.

* * *

Leia tugged at the collar of her dress. The blue brocade around her neck felt both constricting and itchy. The heavy fabric of her senatorial robes weighted down her shoulders, pooling in wide, smooth folds at her feet. The material was a thick, luxurious weave, yet the dress was unadorned aside from the decorative embroidery and beading of the collar. The dress in the mirror was a far cry from the over the top masquerade of silks and glimmer and sheen that constituted a senate hearing. It was a bizarre contrast to the days of the Empire, when they had all been but puppets of the regime clad in pressed and plain greys and whites and blacks. Leia padded down the creases on her lap and pulled at the sleeves. It did not make the dress feel any more comfortable. Tired brown eyes stared back from the mirror. Her fingers trailed the shallow wrinkles that outlined her eyes. The early morning light made her seem pale and gaunt. She padded on some blush and painted her protruding lips; a brushing of black pigment onto her eyelashes completed the mask. She searched the table top for her hairbrush. There was a knock on the door.

"Come in." She dragged her fingers through the damp tangles of her hair. Two clicks and a scuffle; his form was taller than she remembered, broader too, yet the familiar head of dark hair and the azure eyes still remained. The grey tunic and pants were almost camouflaged by the walls; his shadow was longer than before. Gone was the slumped stature of the somber and cynical boy she had first met. The man in the mirror stood straight backed with his arms crossed across his chest.

Blue eyes scanned her stature. The unopened luggage that still stood next to the doorway completed the picture. "You are leaving. Why so soon?" His voice was still the same, perhaps a shade or two deeper. Curious eyebrows arched as he met her gaze through the mirror.

"A senate hearing. On Chandrila. I must attend in person." She winced as the hairbrush pulled viciously at her scalp. Perhaps she should consider cutting her hair. She knew Han wouldn't dare say anything, though he would no doubt disagree. A callused hand pried the brush from her grip.

"I never understood politicians. Lying, deceiving, agreeing to disagree at every turn. It's a wonder anything ever gets done." A playful glimmer appeared in his eyes. "No offence, princess." She scoffed. He gathered her long locks behind her shoulders. Gently, the brush began to work its way through the messy ends, easing its way slowly through the tangles. There was no pain or forceful ripping of hair, just rhythmic, methodic tugging. Leia let herself relax.

Silence fell for a while. "What about Ben? Are you taking him with you?" There was an undertone to his voice that Leia didn't like. She glanced at her son's still form bundled up in blankets on the other side of the room. The child still slept peacefully with his head drowning in the pillow and his hand extended over the edge of the bed almost dragging against the floor; there had been no nightmares that night.

"Of course, as always."

A pause. Leia heard him shift his weight to the other side before he resumed his task. She winced as the brush pulled against a particularly tight knot.

She caught him eyeing her son through the mirror. "He is powerful in the Force. Just like you. A well of untapped potential." His statement was a mixture of concern and admiration. "Have you asked your brother to train him?" There it was: the question she had been dreading. Leia bit into her upper lip. Her silence seemed to answer for itself.

"I keep telling myself I will take him next year. Just one more year before I give him up to Luke." The fabric of her dress crinkled in her white-knuckled grasp. "It's been six years since then, when we first found out. Han didn't know how to take it; he has never wanted to understand the Force. We decided to ignore it. Just be a normal family." She didn't want to let him go. She wanted to cherish those smiles and laughs of her little boy when it felt the whole galaxy was against her. She wanted to tuck him in and read him to sleep in the sparse light of a holopad. She didn't want him to wake up crying about night terrors and monsters. She didn't want to see those haunted, fearful, angry eyes that should never belong to her little boy.

There was a degree of understanding in his expression. "I never realized it back then, but my parents always seemed so fearful. Aside from the obvious defiance against the empire, there was always something else." Leia watched his eyes soften at the memory. For a fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of the lost and shattered young man she had last seen so briefly on Alderaan. "My mother would always be wary, always looking over her shoulder whenever she walked me to the academy or when we went to the market. Her and father would always question me about the day, always concerned with little, seemingly trivial things. A breaking glass or a sudden unexplainable breeze. I once told dad to be careful on the stairs. He strained and bruised his wrist after tripping on the third to last step. Mother went ballistic when she found out." A fond smile ghosted at his lips. Leia failed to hold back a chuckle that quickly morphed into a sob.

"He told someone they were going to die." She watched his face carefully for the terror or disgust she expected. There was only a flicker of surprise that quickly flashed out.

"Did they?"

"A blown out fuse in the middle of hyperspace."

The man cringed. "The boy needs to be trained, Leia. He is too powerful to lack control." Calm as ever he set the brush down and reached for the pins scattered across the table top. "And people fear what they don't understand." Practiced hands twirled and braided her hair. Leia dared not to deny her friend the memory.

"I have shielded him. The visions should not bother him, although it is only a temporary solution. You would be better off dosing him with force inhibitors, cruel as it may sound. He would of course build up a tolerance after a while. The best course of action would be to teach him to control it. It will only get worse if nothing is done." Her friend spoke the truth and Leia knew it. She clenched her fits. Her close cropped finger nails bit into her palms.

"Will you teach him?"

The question seemed to catch her friend off guard judging by his pursed lips and scrunched forehead. "I am not a master. Not even a knight. Your brother would be a far better choice." He stated frostily. Leia though she heard some bitterness in his tone.

"Do you have to be?" She winced as a pin scraped against her scalp. Nimble fingers tucked away the last of the stray hairs. "You are similar, you and Ben." She didn't elaborate despite his curious stare. Leia glanced up to the mirror. Speaking of memories… she brought up her hands to caress the tightly wound hair buns on either sides of her head.

"There is the senator I remember."

She tried to smile. The hair seemed too youthful when paired up with her aged countenance. Nowadays she preferred a simple bun or a braid – nothing too fancy. She would let it stay on for now. She stood up and brushed off her clothes. Her friend leaned against the wall by the window. The early morning light cast his face in half shadow.

"Do you still miss them?" She asked suddenly. Leia was unsure whether the question was more for him or herself. After all the years she had wanted to move on. At the same time, she was afraid of forgetting.

"Sometimes. Dreams and nightmares more so than memories." His hand lingered upon his belt. Only then did Leia notice the two lightsaber hilts hanging on his hip. One of them wasn't originally his. She had laughed when some senator had dared to call her a paranoid warmonger. The weight of her blaster was suddenly noticeable on her leg. "Then there are the little things. Colors, phrases, sounds, objects, the like."

"They say it gets easier with time. There is no death, there is the Force. What a beautiful lie, isn't it?"

"I never thought I'd hear you question Jedi philosophy. What would your master think?" It was a playful jest to lighten the somber mood. It wasn't very effective. She sat quietly onto the edge of her son's bed. The bedframe creaked under the added weight. The boy continued to sleep undisturbed. She let her fingers run through his silken hair.

"What happened?" She asked quietly. It was something she had wondered about for a long time. The news back then had been scarce and bound tightly in red tape.

Silence fell. "Do you really need to know?" He questioned back hoarsely. She glanced up to meet his gaze halfway.

She appraised the shadow that remained. War and loss changed people in different ways. A part of her had died back with Alderaan. What remained had rushed in and hardened to fill the resulting void. Her friend was no different. Like a shattered vase, one of the ornamentally decorated pieces her mother had favored. The shards had been tediously tacked together to match the patterns that had once been; the cracks were still clearly visible, the intricate lines broken. Was she willing to test whether such a fragile vessel was still waterproof? No, she would not do that to her friend.

"The mountains and lakes…. I used to see them every day from my balcony. Father knew all their names, though he was seldom home. Mother was always both worried and happy when he came back from the senate. She was always so fearful…. Back then I didn't understand why." Her voice was hoarse, on the edge of breaking. Her father had had such warm brown eyes, though not the exact same shade as hers. Mother had always told her otherwise. Leia knew she had been lying; there had once been another woman who had shared her eyes, though hers had been so sad and yet so kind. The fire in her eyes she had gotten from someone else. "And then it was all gone in a single flash of light. Nothing but rubble floating in space. I remember him holding me still, keeping me grounded as I trembled. He kept me upright when my legs wanted to fail me." She blinked away the tears. She had cried them long ago.

"Luke told me there was still good in him."

"But not enough."


End file.
